"Alan Dean Foster - Lost and Found" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)
Snakeyes didnтАЩt move, but neither did he shift his stance to block WalkerтАЩs retreat. He did, however,
favor the departing commodities trader with a pithy comment and a withering stare.
тАЬDonтАЩt bullshit me, dude. But no harmdone тАФthatтАЩs for sure.тАЭ
Out in the chill darkness of the parking lot, the hitherto reliable 4X4 chose that evening to not start.
WalkerтАЩs attention kept shifting frequently back and forth between the glassy rectangle of a door that
was the entrance to the bar and the recalcitrant ignition. The entryway remained deserted. When the
engine finally turned over, so did his emotions. He backed carefully out of the dirt parking area. All he
needed now, he knew, was to back into some localтАЩs precious pickup.
Moments later he was safely out on the road. Half a mile up the state highway he swung left onto the
gravel track that led up to the lake. After repeated glances into the rearview mirror showed an absence of
headlights behind him, he finally relaxed.
Well, it had been a charming if not charmed evening right up until the end. As he put the Durango into
four-wheel drive, he realized that heтАЩd actually been lucky. Suppose Snakeyes and the blond brothers
hadnтАЩt shown up at the bar? Suppose heтАЩd gone home with pretty Janey to check out her installation
skills and brother brusque and his buds had come a-knockinтАЩ on her front door to remind her of her
upcoming date with her favorite OB-GYN dude? Yes, it might easily have been worse.
Instead, he had extricated himself quickly and cleanly from what could have been an exceedingly
unpleasant situation. By the time he reached the lake and turned east along its southern shore, he was
LostandFound
almost whistling to himself.
As far as he knew, heтАЩd had the whole lake to himself for at least a day. The last campers, a cheerful
elderly couple up from Grass Valley, had packed up and trundled out in their aged camper on Tuesday.
In contrast to his increasing unease at the lack of human company, after tonightтАЩs confrontation he found
himself looking forward to a night, and perhaps a following day, of isolation. Just him and the birds, the
fish, the flowers, and an occasional grazing deer.
His tent by the lake was undisturbed, the gear stored inside untouched. That was the nice thing about
insured rental equipment, he reflected as he braked the 4X4 to a halt, switched off the engine, and
hopped out. You could wander off on a hike or a fishing expedition and just leave everything. This
wasnтАЩt Yosemite or Sequoia. Cawley Lake was pretty out of the way, even for the north-central Sierras.
That was why he and his friends had chosen it as the site of their little bet.
The compact propane heater soon had the interior of the dome tent toasty warm while the battery-
powered lantern rendered the interior bright enough for him to read from one of the paperbacks he had
brought along. Not one to stint when it wasnтАЩt necessary, Walker had rented a pop-up shelter large
enough to accommodate three adequately and himself in comparative comfort. Having filled up in town
on bar snacks, he decided to skip what at that point in time would have been an uncomfortably late
supper. After the tension of the near fight, the rented microfiber sleeping bag beckoned enticingly.
He allowed himself an imported chocolate bar (perhaps made with chocolate liquor whose base
| © 2025 Библиотека RealLib.org (support [a t] reallib.org) |